


keen mind

by gummies



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, content warning: caleb's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: Bren Aldric Ermendrud falls to his knees in a pile of embers, and when his eyes open, something has gone very wrong.
Kudos: 22





	keen mind

Bren Aldric Ermendrud falls to his knees in a pile of embers, and when his eyes open, something has gone very wrong.

He knows this. Not in as many words, but he knows it. In the corners of his mind, in the current of his nerves- in some left-over sense-memory too deeply ingrained in his psyche to be completely wiped clean. Something is very, _very_ wrong.

_(“-enchantment. Something to act as a siphon. Ideally, one would use unpolished crystal, cut into, say, four or five small spheres. However, while helpful, this is not imperative. More common materials- clay or glass for example- would work as well. Similarly-”)_

The world around him is strange and frightening. Behind him is darkness. In front, however, is a cacophony of colors. Bren cannot remember their names, or even that they have them, but they invade his vision nonetheless. A great wall of heat and pain, dancing in the wind. Dark, heavy air blankets the space between, rising from the display in columns. It hurts to look. It hurts to turn away.

_(Bren snaps, and the schoolchildren huddled around him gasp._

_Sparks shimmer, glowing brightly in the palm of his hand. He lets the others get a good look, then clenches his fist shut. The weight of their gaze is a physical thing. Heavy, yet exciting. Bren allows himself the barest second to bask in it before taking a deep breath. Anticipation set aside, he zeroes in on the tingling heat of his fingertips._

_Bren exhales, and his hand erupts into flames. The children shriek and laugh, some flinching back. A few lean forward. In their eyes, he sees fire.)_

Suddenly- sensation. _New_ sensation, beyond the burning, sweltering blaze that’s sunk into his hands and eyes and throat. A weight on his shoulders. Pulling, Bren understands. Pulling him back from the light he’d been crawling towards. He fights it, opening his mouth and letting out a base, animal noise. 

The pressure retreats. Bren takes the opportunity to drag himself forward, forward, until the colors are close enough to touch. But it isn’t them that matter to him. It’s what’s inside. He doesn’t know what it is that he’s trying so hard to get to, but he knows _where_ it is, and that he _needs to get to it._

_(“Your father and I have something to give you,” his mother says over dinner, one night._

_Bren watches curiously as his father leaves the table, going instead to fumble with one of the pantry drawers. “What is it?” he asks. His mother just smiles. There’s something wistful in her gaze, that same teary-eyed look she gets every time they etch his height onto the closet door frame and she sees how much he’s grown._

_When Bren’s father returns, he’s holding something- it’s not the right size to be a book, and Bren has to squash down the disappointment._

_The parcel handed to him is folded in cloth and tied with a bow. Bren looks between his parents’ faces, confused. Instead of returning to the table, his father has come to a stop behind Bren’s chair, one hand resting supportively on his shoulder. His mother has stood as well, rushing to his other side as he tugs the makeshift ribbon free._

_Inside is an envelope. It’s been opened already, that much is obvious. But the wax seal remains intact, and Bren’s thoughts all screech to a halt as he sees the insignia._

_His parents share a laugh as he rips the letter out. Bren pays neither any mind, too busy mouthing the paper’s words as he reads them, eyes as big as saucers._

_Bren’s father ruffles his hair. “Just remember us little people when you’re up there in the capital, ja?”)_

Bren reaches out a hand. Just before the tips of his fingers make contact, the pressure returns- stronger, now, and on all sides. 

He struggles, thrashing and clawing like a rabid dog. It makes little difference. A hand comes into view and Bren uses what leverage he has to lunge towards it, sinking his teeth in. Whoever owns it lets out a yelp. In the surprise, their hold loosens, allowing Bren to jerk away.

His moment of triumph lasts only until he sees _why_ they let go. The second hand, now a fist, connects to the side of his head with a thundering pain. 

In a moment, all light is gone. The world fades, engulfed in blackness. And then, so is Bren.

 _(The floor of his cell may be cold and rough, but the hand in his hair is warm and gentle. Motherly, even. He cries harder at the thought, pressing his face into the dirty rags covering his knees._   
_  
“Shh,” says the person on the other side of the bars, “Shhhhh, it’s alright! Everything’s alright-” _

_They continue for some time, mumbling reassurances into the top of his head. Useless things, he knows- nothing but meaningless lies and empty promises. But they work all the same, and soon, he finds his tears drying._

_“That’s it, there we go...” the voice murmurs._

_He wipes his face with the crook of his elbow, breath shaky. The brick scrapes against his thighs as he scoots forward, turning back to face the bars._

_The person behind him is small and hunched, clothes little better than his own. The hand that’d combed through his hair is clawed, twitching absently, like it wants to reach out of its own volition. A pair of large, glowing eyes peer at him from the darkness, pupils as thin as needles._

_“What’s your name?” the goblin asks._

_When he speaks, his voice is hoarse from crying and disuse alike._

_“...Caleb. It’s Caleb Widogast.”)_


End file.
